the tic was a result of the stress he was under. He wore a white T–shirt as a disguise for his rank and had forbidden anyone to salute him. Siri decided that if the Hmong didn’t get him, he’d probably worry himself to death.
He took the captain outside and explained what he’d found and what he hadn’t. They walked together across the clearing. Even in Vientiane, Siri had never seen so much earth-moving equipment in one place.
“So, are you saying they died of natural causes?”
“No, I’m saying I found no evidence they died of unnatural causes. But neither did I find indications of natural death.”
“But the captain crashed into a damn tree. Don’t tell me that didn’t kill him.”
“He was dead before he hit it.”
“That’s not possible. The men said he was standing up with his foot on the accelerator, yelling his heart out. You must have got it wrong.”
“I’d feel a lot better if I did get it wrong. But there’s no doubt in my mind. The tree didn’t kill him, and a heart attack didn’t kill his mate. I couldn’t see any evidence they’d been poisoned by anything traditional. But I’ve heard of potions that can kill a man without leaving obvious signs. It would take a lifetime to test for all of them.”
This debriefing obviously wasn’t pleasing Kumsing, whose tic became more pronounced the more he heard. He thrashed the side of his fatigues with a sprig of young bamboo.
“Have you interviewed the locals?” Siri asked.
“The Hmong? They just deny everything. They aren’t likely to give up one of their own. They’re peculiar people, all that spirit-worship mumbo-jumbo. It wouldn’t surprise me if they have one of those witch doctors with his own factory turning out poisons and crazy drugs.”
“How far is it to the nearest village?”
“Four, five kilometres. Why?”
“I need to go and talk to them.”
“Oh. That won’t do you any good.”
“Captain, the only way we can isolate the drug, if there was a drug, would be to find out what varieties they use out there. Get samples and take them back to do tests in Vientiane. Until that happens, we won’t know the cause of death, and you can’t arrest anyone. Are you with me?”
“I suppose so.”
“Good. I’ll need a driver.”
“You want to go now?”
“No time like the present.”
“But it’ll be dark in a few hours.”
“Then it’s just as well that I’m not afraid of the dark, isn’t it?”
¦
They were driving along an overgrown gully similar to the one by the airfield. Siri suspected these tracks couldn’t be seen from the air, and were probably set up by smugglers. The Ho Chi Minh Trail was just like this, a tunnel through jungle. It was no wonder the Americans had been unable to shut it down. The Hmong must have learned the trick from their enemy.
Captain Kumsing had opted not to come along on this journey. He’d sent Siri with a driver and a younger captain. The driver was the friendlier of the two.
Siri asked whether they’d be able to see the project site on the way.
“No, sir. It’s over that way about thirteen kilometres.”
“Really? Seems a bit odd you’d set up a crop substitution project so far from the villages you’re helping.”
The driver laughed. “Yes, sir. It does, doesn’t it?”
The captain glared at Siri, but it didn’t stop him smiling. In fact he kept smiling until a large black shape came hurtling at the windscreen with a thud. The shape flapped against the glass and flew up over the roof of the cab. Siri and the captain both shielded their eyes, but the driver seemed used to it.
“Damn thing.”
“What on earth was that?”
“Crows, sir. They get sport out of buzzing our transport.”
“Crows? Is it normal to find crows ihis far from cities? I thought they were flying rats.”
“I’m not a bird man, me. I know a lot about fish, but – ” The crow came at the truck again, this time at the side window where the captain slapped at it. He fought to get the window up, and the angry bird bloodied his hand with its beak.
“Shit!”
Siri helped fight it off until the window was up and the bird flew back into the trees. The driver wound up the window on his side.
“Never seen one as frisky as that. Must be the time of day. You know, I say crows, plural, but I guess there might just be the one. Those brown chest markings, I recognise them. I’ve seen that fellow before.”
The captain sucked at the blood on his wrist and mumbled under his breath. Siri reached into his pack for antiseptic.
“You want me to look at that?”
“It’s nothing.” And he didn’t mean it wasn’t a serious wound. He meant it was nothing. He held up his wrist and in spite of the blood they’d all seen, there wasn’t a mark.
The driver whistled. “Now, that’s odd.”
As they neared the village, they passed an army guard post. The sentry waved them through. The road opened into a clearing where thirty or forty bamboo-and-grass huts sat on either side of a small stream. Narrow paths criss-crossed in all directions, and at every intersection there was a small structure like a bridge, too small for even a child to cross. The newer ones were decorated with flowers and incense sticks. Older ones had been ignored and left to fall into decay. The driver saw Siri looking.
“They’re bridges so the lost souls can find their way back to their bodies.” He laughed.
“Heathens,” the captain muttered. Every tree on their way in to the village was circled with coloured cloth and white strings. Many had trays of offerings and piles of stones in front of them. Siri thought it was all rather charming, and somehow familiar.
Two more armed soldiers came to meet the truck. The army appeared to be providing very generous security to the villagers of Meyu Bo. One of the soldiers was holding a walkie-talkie and was telling headquarters that the doctor had arrived.
Half a dozen village elders had been herded together into a reception committee for the eminent guest from the capital that they didn’t want. They were to stand a few paces back until called upon to offer a sincere welcome.
“Don’t expect anything in the way of manners,” the captain told Siri when they were out of the truck. “They’re an ignorant lot.”
One of the guards led Siri to the elders, who stood counting their toes like schoolchildren. They knew not to speak until they were spoken to.
“Elders of Meyu Bo, this is Dr Siri Paiboun.”
Despite their own status, the four men and two women held their palms together high in front of their faces as the army had instructed them. They were surprised when Siri returned the
The elders looked sideways at each other to be sure they were all seeing the same miracle. Siri and the soldiers began to feel uneasy. The captain spoke.
“Don’t just stand there like buffalo. Don’t you have something to say to your guest?”
There was another embarrassing silence before the village headman, Tshaj, took one hesitant step forward. His hands were still pressed together in front of his face. His Lao was strongly accented.
“It is you, is it not?”
“I hope it is,” Siri said. He stepped forward to shake the headman’s hand, but the old man retreated back to the others.
“Heathens,” said the captain. It was obvious he felt no compassion for the proud race that had been his
